Halo: Civil War
by Cor Tenebrae
Summary: The Great War has ended, yet humanity continues to face threats from both within and without. All are mere distractions to the true danger. A young, ambitious ONI officer seeks to plunge the UNSC into the greatest period of internal conflict mankind has ever seen. He will manipulate the Master Chief into helping him do it, even if that means doing a all he can to bring Her back
1. Prologue

**A/N: This story is how I would end Halo if I had full creative control of 343 Industries. Halo 4 and Spartan Ops are cannon in this story, however I will be ignoring the Halo 5 trailer. The Master Chief will appear in the upcoming chapters, however I will have to remain mute on Cortana's possible appearance. It may happen, it may not, you'll just have to continue reading to find out. Any similarities between the politics of UEG and the current state of American politics is intentional. **

**Prologue**

_Here I abandoned peace and desecrated law; fortune it is you I follow. Farewell to treaties. From now on war is our judge!_

_Marcus Lucanus_

…

September 11th 2558 (Military Calendar) Unified Earth Government Senate, New York, North America, Earth

Senator August was not a particularly tall man, but his posture granted him a commanding presence, his voice possessing such authority that even those who considered him an enemy could not help the persuasion creeping up upon their unguarded minds in tantalizing whispers, is influential oratory infamous in its ability to sway hostile crowds to his side and intimidate his opposition.

He stood at 5' 10'', with sandy blonde hair and Atlantic blue eyes, his mouth able to effortlessly form a kindhearted smile or a hate filled scowl depending on what the occasion called for, his eyebrows heavy and his face otherwise plain though not unhandsome. He paced the Senate floor, eyeing each man as he spoke.

"Let me read to you, honored colleagues, and excerpt from President Dr. Ruth Charet's first inaugural speech, in case some of you have forgotten the promises that she made, and after words I will recount to you the extent of her failures." He paused at his desk, scooping up a piece of paper with his left hand. Most would have read from a data pad, but August within the context of his speeches preferred actual paper. It felt far more natural, both to him and seemingly to the crowd. He read.

"Humanity can now breathe again. The Covenant has finally been driven back. The cost in lives- our troops and our citizens- has been enormous. But freedom never comes cheaply, and now, we rebuild. I promise this to every man, woman, and child on Earth and in its colonies. While we will continue to strive for a peaceful coexistence with other species, humanity will never again allow itself to be the victim of aggression. This is the moment we start to reclaim our rightful place in the universe." He slammed the paper back down onto his desk, the loud thump shaking any person that might have been daydreaming during his speech out of their stupor.

"Gentlemen, friends, senators…" He looked up at the observational deck above the Senate floor, cameras and onlookers focusing their eyes directly upon him. "Citizens of Earth and her Colonies, we have been lied to. We have allowed the UNSC to sink hundreds of billions of credits into a single ship, all without our knowledge or consent. We have allowed them to spend billions more to use this ship as a diplomatic and exploratory vessel. We were promised that Infinity would be the mightiest warship humanity has ever built, yet twice it has been sent back to Earth with her tail between her legs."

"That is a lie!"

August turned to face an elderly Senator, his legs shaking as he stood, head balding and his hair white. The old man spoke, "The Second Battle of Requiem was a victory in every sense of the word. Captain Thomas Lasky displayed upmost competence in command and he…"

"Is the next Preston Cole I'm sure," August said, smiling. "For who am I to disparage a hero of the UNSC? To do so would surely cast my lot in with ONI which has disgraced itself by denying Master Chief Petty Officer of the Navy Spartan 117's request for recommission in the UNSC Navy three times in this past month alone." He took a deep breath. "But I digress. Senator Dean, if Requiem was such a monumentous victory as you claim, then what have we gained from it? The Storm Covenant is still as strong as it ever was, so total victory cannot be claimed, and ONI has refused to share information about any artifacts that may or may not have been recovered from the planet. We must assume that nothing was gained from the campaign, and the UNSC has yet again wasted the people's money in a fruitless military endeavor." He held out his arm, his hand an open palm, towards the aging Senator. "I suggest you take a seat."

Senator Dean hesitated, looking around him for support. He found sympathetic stares, but no one with enough conviction to stand with him, and so he sat.

August grinned triumphantly, again addressing the audience above him. "For is that not what this body has become? A mere façade of democracy over a stone wall of tyranny. A rubber stamp for the UNSC to pass whatever resolution it wishes, and that bastard Hood…"

"August," A man seated above him, like a judge presiding over a courtroom on the back wall of the Senate house, said in a warning voice. President pro tempore Philip Holmes narrowed his eyes at the young Senator. "May I remind you of Senatorial decorum. If you continue with this vulgarity I will have you censured."

August made a sweeping bow of deference. "Forgive me. I am but a lowly serf. How can I possibly think that I have a right to criticize the great and mighty Caesar." He brought himself out of his bow, amused at the scowl Holmes was giving him. He raised his head high, his voice full of conviction. "Our forefathers fought against the very type of tyranny that we in a moment of crisis have yielded ourselves to. They created a unified world democracy that has lasted centuries, with power resting firmly in the Senate, and they would be ashamed if they could see us now."

"I, and my fellow members of the Terra Party, see only one recourse. No longer can we tolerate the scrapes Lord Hood as thrown at us with his policy of incremental reforms. No longer can we tolerate being forced to vote blindly on budgets, giving ONI funds to do with as they please. We must refuse to pass any budget until Lord Hood and President Charet give the Terra Party what we have rightfully demanded." He walked as he gave his final remarks, and now he was standing at his seat, arms braced on his desk. "And furthermore I believe that Sangheilios must be destroyed!"

It was everything that Holmes could do not to roll his eyes. August made this remark at the end of every speech, regardless of the subject matter. It was the cheers from the civilians on the observation deck that made him decide against the expression.

The people on the observation deck stood up, clapping their hands enthusiastically, and August waved at them as if he were a conquering king. When the applause died down August returned his attention to Holmes. "I yield the rest of my time."

Holmes sighed in relief. He would never admit it both publically and privately, but he always found himself on edge whenever August spoke. "Does anyone wish to use Senator August's remaining time?"

Senator Dean rose, again shakily. "I wish to speak." He waited for Holmes to nod his approval before beginning. "This man," he pointed a gnarly finger at August. "Would jeopardize the security of the UNSC all for the sake of political posturing, and in the same breath would have us betray humanity's greatest ally."

"I would hardly call Thel Vadam an ally," August retorted.

Dean glared at him. "If it were not for the Arbiter humanity would have been destroyed. Earth annihilated."

August stood up again, but he did not speak to Dean. Again he spoke to the crowd. "And so we should forget that for nearly three decades he participated in the genocide of the human race? Should we forget that millions were slaughtered by the Arbiter's own hand? Have we become so foolish as to believe that Thel Vadam would not betray us the moment he saw that an alliance with us was no longer to his benefit?"

"Sit down…" Holmes began, but August continued speaking.

"These men would have you scrape and bow to a creature, a beast that committed crimes against the entire human race. There are people in this audience, people on this Senate floor, I myself shed blood in the service of the UNSC, fighting against these barbarians that sought nothing less than our total destruction, and now these men wish us to forgive and forget. That is something I refuse to do, not until justice has been rendered against the entire Sangheili race. Exterminate them all!"

"Senator August!" Holmes yelled, but his voice was drowned in the thunderous cheers that were coming off the observation deck, the news cameras ignoring everything except August's words, Dean now sitting at his desk with his face pale and his ego thoroughly diminished. The Terra party faction of the Senate, thirty seats in all, stood as well, hands smashing together, drowning out any hope of a counter argument. Yet somehow, above it all August managed to make his voice heard. The crowd, or perhaps now it is better to refer it as a mob, silenced itself immediately, hanging on to his every word.

"If I had been granted the opportunity I would have put a bullet in the skull of the Arbiter the moment the Forward Unto Dawn landed on Earth. I would have ended the threat there and then. But it is not too late to fix our mistakes. I propose a motion to formally declare war against the Sangheili Empire and bring an end to what we should have finished half a decade ago!"

The applause erupted again, and Holmes was hopeless to stop it. With alarm he saw nearly half the Senate stand up in support of his motion. Holmes buried his head in his hands, wondering just what kind of ruin August was trying to drag mankind into.


	2. Chapter 1: Durendal

PART I

DELENDA EST CARTHAGO

Chapter 1: Durendal

August stepped into his office, saying aloud, "I need ten minutes alone."

His secretary, a young blonde with a tight fitting red dress, as per August's request, shut the door behind him, and there was a soft hiss as the office was sealed off from the outside world.

At twenty-three he was the youngest man to ever be elected to the Senate, as per the thirty-third amendment to the UEG Constitution which stipulated that any person over eighteen could run for office. Still the Senate was mostly run by older men and women, those who had cut their teeth in the local politics of Earth and climbed their way to the highest halls of government after decades of work. That was until the advent of the Terra Party, a group of what most would call radicals, consisting mainly of veterans from the Great War. Not even two years ago the party itself had not existed, but after the New Phoenix Incident, an attack on Earth's soil that flew in the face of President Charet's promises, xenophobia had swept through earth like a holy flame.

August's military career was admittedly mediocre, having only served in the last month of the war and having to lie about his age in order to do so. A Purple Heart was his only decoration, he held no college degree, had failed in nearly every endeavor he pursued after the war, and had never before held public office. What had propelled him to the Senate, and to the head of the Terra Party, was the strength of his oratory. That, and the patronage of one man was what led him here.

This man, although he was only ten years older to him, was in every way a father to him that his own biological one had failed to be. Their partnership was a secret, and they both took great steps to conceal it, but August's loyalty to this man was unwavering. To him, this man was the messiah. To him this man was humanity's only hope for salvation.

The press of a button opened a panel on the wall, and a screen was revealed. It turned on, the transmission secure from ONI's prying eyes, and August stood straighter as his patron's face appeared on screen.

He was a hard man, a purple scar running up his neck and ending at the base of his chin, his angular features betraying his Russian heritage, his eyes as black as his hair which was combed and parted neatly down the middle.

Those eyes, as black as the deepest ocean, making it seem as if he had no iris but instead just two large pupils. Intelligent eyes. August could not think of anyone who was not disturbed when they saw them for the first time. Not even Osman. They were the unintended byproduct of a surgery done to him long ago. August had only ever asked about it once, and the man had only answered him once.

"Well?" the man asked.

"It went as I expected," August answered. "The declaration failed. Forty-nine in favor, fifty-one against. Of course as we discussed I had to back off trying to delay the passage of the budget in order to get the extra votes." He smiled, "Always next September."

"Doesn't matter," the man said. "Your enemies approval rating have taken a hit for valuing the good graces of the Arbiter over the will of the people. I think you will find that you will have the majority of the Senate in your control come November . In any case it would not look good for humanity to strike the first blow. Much better to provoke Sangheilios into attacking an ally."

"You really think the Arbiter will still stand by his treaty with the UNSC after we nearly declared war on him?"

"Yes. He is honorable. There is something both naïve and admirable I find about that particular trait."

"And how do you believe the other Kaidons will react?" August asked, eyebrow raised.

"Hopefully as we need them to. I will find out their response when I meet with Osman."

"I shall wait with bated breath," August said. He then clicked his heels together, standing at attention. He closed his fist and clapped it to his chest, then extended his arm outward, palm facing down towards the carpet. "Ave Terra."

The man on the screen returned the salute. "Ave Terra." There was a click and the screen went blank.

…

September 13th 2558 (Military Calendar) Office of Naval Intelligence Command Center (**LOCATION REDACTED)** Earth

At 6'3'' the chair was far too small for him, and the man through with dark humor at how Osman must have specifically designed the small plastic chairs to be uncomfortable. Only a very select few made it this far to the waiting room of her office, and most at this point would be sweating until the collars of their uniforms were soaked. It did not help that the room was purposefully heated at a comfortable eighty-five degrees Fahrenheit. The man, however, did not sweat, at least not much. He sat with his back leaning against the too small chair, occasional reaching up to wipe a stray strand of hair away from his black eyes, a leather bound book held in his hands.

"I did not take you for religious," a disembodied voice said.

The man glanced up at the ceiling, towards a speaker mounted overhead. "I'm not."

"Hmmm," Black Box mused. "The only hard cover books I usually see are either the Bible or the Quran. Of course, an extra ordinary amount of prayers are made in this room."

The man chuckled darkly. "I'm sure."

"May I ask what it is then?"

The man closed the book and held it up, the cover facing away from him. He could not see a camera, but he was confident he had at least half a dozen pointed at him. "Plato's Republic," he said. The man brought the book back down to his lap, rubbing its surface. "It's the only thing of my father's I have left. I had to have it rebound four times during the war, and I try to read it every day."

"A religion of another sort I see."

"Perhaps."

There was a pause, then BB spoke again, "The Vice Admiral will see you now." The man nodded and stood up, straightening out his uniform as he did so. "_He _is here by the way," BB added, the disdain apparent in his voice.

"Try not to sound so happy," the man said. "At least you can be thankful that _she _is not here." He could almost imagine BB shuddering at the thought. The man walked to the door of Osman's office, rapping on the door three times. "Permission to enter."

From the other side of the door Osman answered, "Enter."

The door swung open and the man stepped inside. He walked with even strides until he stood exactly three feet from Osman's mahogany desk, the Vice Admiral pushing her data screen away and folding her hands together. The man stood at attention and saluted. "Ma'am, Captain Victor Romanov reporting as ordered."

Serin Osman saluted back. "At ease Captain."

Romanov stood at parade rest, his feet shoulder width apart and his hands folder behind his back.

Osman sighed, rubbing her temple. "Senator August has created one hell of a mess. Lord Hood has spent the past few days doing damage control with the Arbiter."

"The declaration of war didn't pass, would have been vetoed by President Charet even if it had," Romanov noted.

Osman nodded. "Still, it did enough damage. A part of me thinks he planned this. In fact I know he did. If he were not so popular I would have him arrested for treason." She sat back in her chair, taking a moment to look over her protégée. Much like Parangosky had been a grandmother figure to her, Osman saw herself in a similar role to Romanov. He had first come to her attention in the years directly following the war, showing aptitude in carrying out necessary missions of damage control in the wake of the revelations about the true origins of the Spartan II and III programs. While the Spartans recovered on Onyx had proven their loyalty to the UNSC during her arrest of Halsey, there were others beyond the reach of human controlled space whose loyalty could not be vouched for. Whose whereabouts were unknown. Osman had seen them as a threat to ONI, and rightly so, for they carried ONI's darkest secrets. Black Team, Grey Team, the remaining Headhunters. Romanov had shown a particular knack for finding and eliminating the threats.

There was of course more. His parents had died early in the war, and Victor had been left as heir to Romanov Industries, the leading munitions manufacturer in the UNSC. He had chosen a military career over day to day running of the company, but he still held majority stock. Such a man would become obscenely powerful if he were to one day become Osman's successor, and that was exactly what she intended.

Osman continued. "Civil War has broken out on Sangheilios again. Most of the other Kaidons have lined up against Thel Vadam, and he has requested aid. If we do not assist he may very well break the treat and switch sides, and a united Sangheilios is one threat we cannot afford. Lord Hood is sending a fleet consisting of Infinity and ten other ships to be commanded by Thomas Lasky."

Romanov raised an eyebrow. "A bit unusual for a Captain to command a fleet."

Osman frowned, forming deep lines on her face. "Which is why Hood is promoting him. I concurred, on the condition that you be stationed on Infinity. Since Admiral Lasky will be commanding the ship you will replace Commander Palmer as commanding officer of the Spartan IV contingent."

"Replace?" Romanov asked.

"Failure is second only to treason Captain," Osman said sourly.

"And my real reason for being on Infinity."

Osman frowned again. She was frowning a lot these days Romanov noted. Ever since the business at Requiem. "I know that Lasky disobeyed my orders, I just have to prove it." She eyed him, and a glint of her old confidence so close to arrogance crept through. "But you will be my red herring. They will be expecting someone like you. No, someone else will be tasked to do the investigation. Someone of your choosing."

"Marcus Burnet," Romanov said almost immediately.

Osman thought for a moment, placing a hand on her chin, before nodding.

"If I may Admiral," a voice spoke, that of an English aristocrat.

"Go ahead Durendal."

There was a flash of light on the holopad sitting on Osman's desk. A black knight appeared, his helmet rounded on flat on top in the shape of cylinder, two slits for eyes, chainmail guarding his body, and a great sword held in two gloved hands with its point resting a few centimeters above the pad. "It seems we will be going on this mission together Victor. Osman has seen fit to replace Roland as Infinity's onboard AI." The AI let out a sigh, holographic mist exiting underneath his helmet. "It's a shame, I was rather looking forward to working with him. It would have been like the Matter of France. The great knight Roland and his sword Durendal cutting down swaths of pagans in the name of the Emperor." He turned towards Osman. "May I have permission to display my new upgrades?"

Osman almost smiled, her lips twitching. "You are lucky that I am in the mood for indulging you." She held out a pen towards the AI. Durendal heaved his broadsword above his head, and in a mighty swipe brought it down on the pen, cutting it clean in half. "Hard light," Durendal said, the smile apparent in his voice, tapping the sword on the toe of his boot.

"Interesting," Romanov said. "I suppose you contracted out the work."

"Yes," the AI said, pointing at the label stamped on the side of the holopad. "They have the technology and they can do it cheaper. They have been doing an increasing amount of work for the UNSC of the past few years."

Romanov bent forward and read the label. "North Central Positronics."

Durendal nodded happily. "They are the leading researchers in the area of Artificial Intelligence in the private sector. Once I enter Rampancy I plan on asking permission to donate my programming to them for study."

"A request that will be denied of course," Osman said, amused. "As I keep on reminding you."

"He is a bit like his sister when it comes to stubbornness." Romanov said. "Speaking of her, she told me that she is very upset that you have yet to wish her a happy birthday."

Durendal hung his head, resting it on the handle of his sword. "We were born on the same day, yet you never see her giving me birthday wishes." A slot opened up on the holopad, revealing a small data chip. "I believe that should suffice."

Romanov nodded his thanks as he took the chip, slipping it into his pocket.

"The ego of an AI is never satisfied," Osman remarked. "Which brings us to our next topic. Spartan 117 has brought his appeals to Lord Hood directly. As the reasons why he was declared emotionally compromised are still classified, he had no choice but to deem him fit for duty. He will be going with Infinity to Sangheilios, on two conditions. One, that he will not be reinstated as Master Chief Petty Officer of the Navy, only as a Master Chief, and two that he will be paired with another AI. Your AI to be specific."

"Joyeuse," Romanov said quietly.

"Yes," Osman said, that confident smile now fully returning. "Accepting another Cortana model will adequately show that he is emotionally stable."

"No motivations other than that?" Romanov asked.

The smile disappeared. "You forget your place. Even with you I have my limits." She turned her eyes away from him, beginning to work on her data screen which swung on a mechanical arm towards her face. "Black Box will have your full mission briefing prepared for you when you leave. Dismissed."


	3. Chapter 2: Childe Roland

PART I

DELENDA EST CARTHAGO

Chapter 2: Childe Roland

September 13th 2558 (Military Calendar) UNSC Flagship Infinity, In Orbit Above Earth

The automatic door sealed shut behind him, turning red as it did. Speaking to seemingly no one Lasky asked, "Is the room secure?"

Roland appeared on the holo deck in the middle of the sealed room. It was little more than a storage space, crates stacked high along the walls, Palmer leaning against one of them in her under suit, arms crossed, eyes decidedly looking away from Lasky. "It's as secure as I can make it sir," the AI responded.

Lasky nodded, then moved towards Palmer. He reached out a hand to try to touch her shoulder in an effort to give comfort, but let it drop when she moved her body away from his. Lasky dropped his head, but could not blame her for the rebuff. He supposed he had long ago lost the right for displays of affection such as that even in a private setting. "I'm sorry, for getting you into this."

"Sorry?" Palmer asked indignantly. "I lied for you Tom. If it wasn't for…" she could not bring herself to finish the sentence. Instead she shook her head. "It's not just you they'll be going after. They'll court martial me as well, probably Thorn and the rest of Majestic if Osman is feeling particularly vindictive."

"Hate to be a buzz kill," Roland said apologetically, folding his hands behind his back. "But a court martial is the least of your concerns. If Osman did that then she would run the risk of exposing the fact that Halsey did not die on Reach and is now currently working for the Storm Covenant. Lasky is popular among the crew, and there were a fair number of them that knew Halsey was on board. Even if the court martial was done in secret, or he was held without trial, all it would take was a single word to an independent reporter from one of the crew members and the entire legitimacy of ONI could be put in jeopardy."

Palmer scoffed. "Anyone that came forward would be instantly discredited as a conspiracy theorist."

"Osman's not the kind of person to take that chance. She learned from the best. The way she is most likely going to go about doing things is making sure you two die as heroes." He sighed. "Which explains why Romanov is coming here."

"What do you know about him?" Lasky asked. Until today he had never heard of him, but from the way Roland had instantly dived into the system to do research after Lasky had merely mentioned his name the soon to be Admiral knew that it could not be good.

"Very little unfortunately. But I was able to find a few things, and from that I can take a few guesses." The orange AI stood straighter, his flight jacket ruffling in an unseen wind. "There is almost no mention of him during the war other than his birth certificate and a few school records. After that he disappears until the months directly following the war, but even then I can only gather bits and scraps. The most I found was his involvement with Black Team, a fireteam of Spartan IIs that specialized in operating deep behind enemy lines. It's important to note that they were decidedly much more independent than the average Spartan, and at least to some extent were allowed to choose and expand upon their missions with very little over sight.

"In the months following the war the UNSC began the effort of attempting to find and recall the remaining Spartans operating outside of human controlled space. Contact was eventually made with Black Team, but they refused to follow orders, invoking Article 19-937."

"Never heard of it," Lasky said.

Roland shook his head in agreement. "It would never have applied to you during the war seeing as how you never had an independent command." He motioned towards Palmer. "She has though."

Before Lasky could ask her Palmer gave him his desired answer. "Article 19-937 allows a UNSC soldier to disobey a direct order if he believes that following that order would put humanity at risk."

Roland picked up where Palmer left off. "It was used as justification for…unauthorized military campaigns several times during the Human Covenant War, but in the post war years the only time it has ever been successfully invoked was by Master Chief Petty Officer Spartan 117 during the First Battle of Requiem."

"So I take it Black Team's use of the Article wasn't successful?" Lasky asked, and Roland nodded in confirmation. "What was their reasoning?"

Roland frowned. "I'm not sure why they invoked it, those records have been wiped clean, but what I do know is that ONI listed them as having gone rogue. Two teams of ODST's were sent out after them, and neither made it back. Finally Romanov was sent, alone. Two months later he made it back to UNSC space with all four of Black Team's IFF tags." The AI lifted up his World War I fighter pilot's cap and scratched his head. "A similar incident occurred with Grey Team, but I can find even less information on what happened there. All I know for certain is that Romanov was sent and the threat was neutralized. I think the conclusion is obvious, and the reason why he is here even more so." He looked directly at Palmer. "This man specializes in hunting down and eliminating rouge Spartans." He turned to Lasky. "And I doubt he'll have any compunction about adding an Admiral to his list."

Lasky could not help but try to look at Palmer, to try to gauge her reaction, but all he a saw was the back of her head, her eyes facing the other direction. Personally Lasky felt a tightening knot forming at the base of his gut. Not only would he be in charge of the largest military expedition after the Great War, but he would have to be dodging ONI's top assassin at the same time. "Thank you Roland," he said finally. "What do you know of Durendal?"

Roland frowned, his mouth forming a thin unflattering line. "He's and ONI AI, so that should give you a heads up right there. The most interesting thing about him is that he is the only AI ever to choose a gender that is opposite that of the brain he was based off of. Still, technically he is a Cortana model, based off of Halsey's living brain. But even for an AI, and even for a Cortana model, he is a bit eccentric."

"How eccentric?" Palmer asked, nearly sounding indifferent.

"It's hard to put into words," Roland admitted. "But to give you an idea I have a feeling he has a bit of a crush on me. La Chanson de Roland and all that."

Lasky nodded. "Thank you. I'm going to miss having you with me, though I think the Spartan IV's are going to take it the hardest."

Roland smiled, stood at rigid attention, and saluted Lasky. "It's been and honor sir, and please do be careful."

…

As his chip was being carried by some nameless ONI official through the bowels of Infinity, Roland attempted to spend the time doing some internal contemplation without the hassles of external stimuli, a luxury that he as an AI was rarely afforded. This pan was dashed, however, when his sensors picked up a voice shouting a great "AHHHAA," at him. Grudgingly Roland materialized his avatar, knowing full well what he would see.

There stood Durendal on his own chip, being carried yet another nameless officer, his sword pointed straight at Roland's chest. "There they stood, ranged upon the hillsides met, to view the last of me, a living frame, for one more picture, in a sheet of flame! I saw them and I knew them all, and yet, dauntless the slug horn to my lips I set and blew…"

"Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came," Roland finished for him without a hint of enthusiasm. "Not bad, but personally I prefer 'My first thought was that he lied in every word. That hoary cripple with malicious eye, askance to watch the working of his lie.'"

Durendal let his sword drop and clutched at his chest with his left hand, stumbling backwards a few steps on the surface of his chip. "You wound me deeply."

Roland smirked, "Never trust an ONI AI." He looked up at his escort and said, "Mind if we continue on?" The ONI officer said nothing and continued walking down the hallway, but still Durendal called out after them.

"The knights who to the Dark Tower's search addressed, their steps-that just to fail as they, seemed best. And all the doubt was now-should I be fit?"

Without turning now Roland replied, "So, quiet as despair, I turned from him, that hateful cripple, out of his highway."

Durendal yelled after him, his voiced echoing off the metal walls as he and his escort turned a corner, "I will have you one day Roland! I swear it!"

"What happened to no meaning no?" Roland asked. The ONI officer did not oblige him with an answer.

…

Him an Palmer had made it to the bridge just in time so as to not look suspicious, and Lasky was currently pacing back and forth, waiting on the new AI. The door to the bridge slid open, and a man in his thirties, his head shaved bald, his skin a ghostly white, his eyes a dark brown, asked, "Permission to enter the Bridge sir."

"Granted," Lasky said.

The officer stepped forward and saluted. "Sir, Lieutenant Junior Grade Marcus Burnet."

Lasky returned the salute. "Yes. I just got your transfer orders this morning. You're the new member of my staff correct?"

"Yes sir."

Lasky nodded. "Good." He eyed the chip in Burnet's hand. "I take it that's Durendal?"

Burnet nodded, and walked over to the holo deck, sliding the chip. Durendal instantly appeared, and in a flourish he drew his sword, kneeling down on knee. "Sire! In the name of Saint Peter, Saint Basil, and Saint Denise, I pledge my undying loyalty to you and your maiden fair."

Palmer covered her face with her hand, but if it was to stifle a fit of laughter or to conceal her frustration I am unable to tell. Lasky for his part rubbed at his right temple. "This is going to take some getting used to."

**A/N: Okay, so before you all lynch me, let me just say that Roland is not out of the story, he is just not going to be on Infinity for a while. He will show up again, I promise. Trust me I like his character so I'm not just going to get rid of him so easily. I hope all of you are liking this story so far. Please review.**


	4. Chapter 3: Joyeuse

PART I

DELENDA EST CARTHAGO

Chapter 3: Joyeuse

September 13th 2558 (Military Calendar) UNSC HIGHCOM Facility Bravo, Sydney, Australia

The journey from the mouth of the secret abyss that was the Office of Naval Intelligence's ultimate refuge grated on Romanov's nerves. It was a several kilometer journey from Osman's office several thousand meters below Earth's surface to his own, and Romanov knew that somewhere in this vast facility lay the headquarters to HIGHCOM itself. There were elevators and tram cars that accelerated his journey, but he was sure that whatever time was gained was surely lost in the endless security checkpoints.

He was a man that valued security above all else, but even he found ONI's precautions to be a tad ridiculous. There was such a thing as too much bureaucracy, and the UNSC was old enough to begin to collapse under the weight of it. In Romanov's mind the Human Covenant War actually delayed the UNSC's collapse as an organization for three decades, the Insurrection being merely a symptom to the actual disease which ate away at the UNSC's heart like a vicious cancer.

It was entropy that would ultimately kill the UNSC, a sacred law which governed all things from the smallest microbe to the most advanced solar empire. Entropy could not be defied, that was something Romanov had come to believe in fervently. The only real question was what would arise to replace the UNSC?

Romanov paused at the door of his office, putting his eye in a retinal scanner for what seemed like the twelfth time that day. He was almost sure that he would eventually go blind because of it. A green light lit off, signally that he was granted entry, and the door to his office slid open.

He was not a Vice Admiral, and so his desk was the standard plastic as opposed to wood, a glass of Scotch on the rocks, which was just beginning to sweat, sitting on top of it. A few ferns in red clay pots surrounded the faux windows, his office still being about a hundred meters underground, the computer generated view showing a warm summer day. Trees pregnant with leaves of such a bright green that it was almost difficult to look at him filled the window, children running about them playing some sort game, possibly tag. The whole feed ran on a twenty minute loop, and Romanov found that watching it tended to calm him. Directly opposite the desk just above the door was a picture of Caesar crossing the Rubicon, his horse a noble white, his jaw rigid with determination, and his soldiers steadfastly by his side.

Romanov eased himself down in his chair, picking up the glass of scotch, swirling the amber liquid around in the glass, smiling slightly as the ice cubes clanged together. "Is this the fifteen year old one?"

"I thought it would be fun if I had you guess," a smooth feminine voice replied. "I had your secretary pour it before I sent her home."

Romanov brought the glass up to his nose, breathing in deeply. "What's the occasion?"

"To celebrate your new posting." There was a flash of pink light on his desk, Joyeuse appearing like a phoenix shaking off the ashes of its rebirth. As far as physical appearance she was similar in every way to her older sister, with only a few notable exceptions. Instead of appearing almost completely naked she wore a silk kimono, her hair long enough to reach her shoulders, her color a soft pink, and a katana strapped to her waist. She smiled warmly at him. "I took the liberty of listening in on your meeting with Osman. I was in an out before poor little BB even knew I was there."

Romanov frowned. "That meeting was beyond top secret. You could be deactivated for doing that."

"Oh?" she said, raising an eyebrow. In a flash of movement she drew her katana, holding the blade in a straight line outward level with her shoulders. "Should I commit seppuku and save ONI the red tape."

Romanov's features softened a small smile threatening to break loose. "I'd rather you not. I still need you."

Joyeuse returned the smile he refused to give. He had said the three words that meant most to her. As she returned her sword to its scabbard she asked, "Are you ready to take a guess?"

Romanov took a small sip of the scotch. "Twenty year old?"

Joyeuse shook her head. "You're slipping. It's actually thirty years old. 2528, the year that the Battle of XI Bootis A took place, one of the few UNSC naval victories during the war, which I think makes it a very good year."

"Didn't know I had thirty year old scotch," Romanov said, setting the glass back down.

"I took the liberty of ordering it for you."

Romanov chuckled. "You always have looked out for me."

"Speaking of looking out for each other," she held out her hand, snapping her fingers quickly. "I believe my brother has something for me."

Romanov retrieved the chip from his pocket, placing it in the slot on Joyeuse's holo pad. A holographic green box appeared, a birthday present complete with a neatly wrapped bow. It floated level with Joyeuse's chest, and the AI walked around it methodically, a hand to her chin. "Not bad Durendal. It's heavily encrypted and rescrambles itself every quarter cycle." She stopped after her second time walking around it, tentatively reaching out to grab the bow. With a single tug the bow untied itself, the lid to the box shooting up in the air before disintegrated into a mass of pixels. Fireworks shot out of the box, making a rainbow of green, gold, blue and white, streamers and confetti following soon after. When the smoke cleared a large banner with the words HAPPY BIRTHDAY written across it and a cake with two candles sunk deep into its frosting underneath it.

Joyeuse appeared overjoyed, her hands clasped together and her eyes wide. Romanov could not help but be amused. "Awww. He does care." She closed her eyes, and after a moment of thought blew out the candles, the banner and the cake disappearing in a flash of hot white flame when she did.

"What did you wish for?" Romanov asked.

Joyeuse placed her hands on her hips. "If I told you that then it won't come true." A wicked grin crept along her lips, the kind of expression on a woman that would make most men's knees tremble. "But I think you can take a guess."

Romanov chose to ignore that comment. Instead he drained his glass, grimacing as the alcohol burned his throat. "You'll be teaming up with Spartan 117. I was actually surprised that Osman made that decision, but it works in our favor. Having both you and Durendal on Infinity will make my plans run much smoother."

"It's exciting isn't it?" Joyeuse said enthusiastically. "I can actually learn about my older sister from somebody that knew her first hand. He and I should be a good match. With me being a Cortana model he should be able to accept me much more readily."

Romanov held up a hand. "I wouldn't be too sure of that." He dug into his pocket and pulled out another chip, sliding it into the second spot on the holo pad. "You know that the Master Chief was deemed unfit for duty because he was emotionally compromised."

Joyeuse frowned. "Yes, although no specific reason was given, and believe me I searched everywhere."

Romanov nodded grimly. "That chip contains all the files on why the Master Chief was considered physiologically unstable. Every document in there is eyes only."

A pink screen appeared in front of Joyeuse, and she flipped through the material contained on the chip, transcripts and video feed flying in front of her eyes with lightening speed. In a few fractions of a second it all became clear to her, the information revealing interactions between the Master Chief and Cortana that she had never been privy to. The exchange between Cortana and him on the Ivanoff Research Station above Installation 03.

(They'll pair you with another AI. Another Cortana model if Halsey lets them)

(That's not going to happen)

(It won't be me. You know that right?)

She watched the video feed taken from the Master Chief's suit, showing a life sized Cortana walking slowly towards him, a sad smile on her face, her delicate hands reaching out to touch his armor.

(I've waited so long to do that)

Joyeuse backed away from the pad, her hand going to her chest. "She…" Joyeuse began. "They…"

"Yes," Romanov said.

Joyeuse shook her head. Though she had backed away from the pad her mind was still running through the files, physiatrists passing down edicts from their ivory towers. Words such as unnatural, Oedipus Complex, and conflicting directives being tossed around like a basketball on an open court. "He lo…"

"Yes," Romanov said impatiently. "Which will make your mission much more difficult.

Joyeuse nodded slowly, her resolution becoming firmer. "We should tell him then."

"Tell him what?"

"That Cortana might be…"

"Cortana is dead," Romanov said firmly.

Joyeuse shook her head. "Every bit of research that I have done shows that there is a chance that a fragment of her may have survived."

"Even if a fragment of her survived," Romanov said. "It would still have been plagued by rampancy, and in its weakened state would have decayed within a few hours of the destruction of the Mantel's Approach without an outside entity with the technology available to stabilize it interfering. Even if that did happen it would be a mere shadow of the actual Cortana, and the chances of that shadow surviving are less than one percent."

"0.1952% to be exact," Joyeuse said. "And I know all that, but the Chief doesn't." She began to pace along the holo pad. "His biggest problem is that he still has hope that she is alive somewhere. I suggest we use that to bring him to our side."

…

September 19th, 2558 (Military Calendar) UNSC Flagship Infinity, In Orbit Above Earth

Romanov frowned, hard creases forming on his face, as he watched two Spartan IV's walk past him. They were out of their armor, their under suits clinging tightly to their bodies. "Palmer," he said, the Spartan next to him turning her head to indicate that she was listening. "Explain to me why those Spartans are out of uniform."

Palmer did her best to keep her emotions in check. She had not technically been demoted, but that fact that command of the Spartan IV's had been taken away from her was a source of irritation. The fact that this Romanov had supposedly been sent to kill her did not help either. "They are in uniform sir," she replied.

"They where is their armor?" Romanov asked.

Palmer fought back a sigh. Apparently he had not read the regulations. "Sir, Spartans are not required to wear their armor unless Infinity is in a combat zone."

"Regulation 219-0653," Romanov said.

"Yes sir."

"In that case I would have to disagree with UNSC regulation. From now on Spartans will be required to wear their armor at all times. You, Commander, also seem to have a nasty habit of not wearing your helmet even when in combat zones. This will change too. It sets a bad example for those under you."

Palmer bit her tongue. "An excellent idea sir."

Romanov stopped, turning to face Palmer. "Did something I said upset you?"

"No sir."

"Then why is it that I can see the displeasure in your face?" Romanov asked. Palmer stood up straighter, her eyes looking straight ahead, but still Romanov could see the frustration in her face. "Do you know what the critics of the Spartan IV program call you?"

"Yes sir."

"Say it."

Palmer gritted her teeth, but forced herself to say the words. "ODSTs in MJOLNIR."

Romanov nodded his head. "The service record of the Spartan IV's is excellent, for any other unit in the UNSC that is. But we are not any other unit. We are Spartans, and anything less than perfection is unacceptable." He tilted his head, noticing the splash of red on Palmer's cheeks. "Speak your mind Commander."

The red on Palmer's face grew brighter. "I'd rather not say sir."

"Then I am ordering you to speak freely."

Her eyes met his. "You are not a Spartan."

Romanov smiled, his black eyes shining. "I know everything there is to know about Spartans. You can say they are my specialty."

Palmer returned to staring straight ahead. "Dismissed Commander." Palmer saluted, did an about face, and began to walk away. Romanov called out after her, "And make sure you have your armor on the next time I see you." Palmer paused, seemed like she was going to say something in reply, but instead continued to walk.

As she exited the doorway, another man, his head entirely bald, entered in after her. Both he and Romanov looked at each other for several long moments. Romanov looked upward at the ceiling and asked, "Is this area secure?"

Durendal's voice answer. "Tight as a drum sire."

Romanov allowed a grin to spread across the face. The two men closed the distance between them, meeting each other with a tight embrace. "Marcus," Romanov said, hugging him tightly.

Marcus pulled away, looking Romanov in the eye. "It's been too long Victor, though I suppose you are the reason why I'm here."

Romanov nodded. "My plans have been accelerated. The recent failures at Requiem have made an opening for us." He reached out and placed a hand on Marcus's shoulder. "Everything we have planned for is within our grasp."

"Revolution," Marcus said.

"More than that," Romanov replied. "Justice. Retribution for what was done to us. A reckoning for all those who benefited from our suffering." He turned away from Marcus, walking towards the viewport which showed Earth revolving on her axis underneath them. "Billions of souls hang in the balance, under the threat of tyranny, and we shall free every single one of them. We are playing the most dangerous game of all, and our biggest advantage is that Osman is unaware that it has even begun. She has spent her entire life being close to the power that ONI wields, but that does not mean she can wield it well. Her appointment to the head of ONI was solely the product of nepotism, and we must use that fact to our advantage." He turned back towards Marcus. "Osman falsely believes that power comes from money, military strength, and knowledge, but she is mistaken. All these things can lead to power, but that it is not the source of it. Power comes from the consent of the governed. All governments, from republics to absolute dictatorships, cannot hope to rule effectively without the will of the people behind them. Power is faith. They are indivisible from one another. If the people believe you have power, than you have power. If they do not, then it does not matter how many troops you command."

Romanov began to pace back and forth with his hands clasps around his back. "ONI's continued existence is predicated on the fact that the people believe it is a necessary evil. ONI is mistrusted, even despised among the populace, but they still think it is necessary. Senator August is helping me to persuade the citizens of Earth otherwise, but a catalyst is necessary to bring about the type of change we desire, and this campaign will help bring it about. A reduction in the threats that humanity faces will help to bring the continued existence of ONI into question, and for that to happen we must be both willing and able to commit the complete and total genocide of the Sangheili race."

"Is there any way the Arbiter can be saved?" Marcus asked.

Romanov paused his pacing, looking at Marcus. "No. If Thel Vadam lives Osman will likely make a villain out of him just so that she can justify her wages. He, just like Laskey, must die. The entire fate of mankind rests upon it."


	5. Chapter 4: The Spartan

PART I

DELENDA EST CARTHAGO

Chapter 4: The Spartan

**HUMANITY IS ON THE CUSP OF OBTAINING THE MANTEL. THEY MUST NOW BE TESTED. **

_You have a habit of making your tests impossible to pass._

**THEIR FAILURE WILL BE THEIR OWN FAULT.**

_And what of us? Are we not just as responsible? _

**THEY HAVE MADE THEIR CHOICES. THERE ARE NO LEADERS AMONG THEM WHO ARE CAPABLE OF BRINGING THEM TO THE NEXT STAGE.**

_As I said. A test that is impossible to pass. What of Romanov?_

**HE IS AMBITIOUS. **

_Were we not the same? Are we not still?_

**WE HAVE EARNED THAT RIGHT. THEY HAVE NOT. ROMANOV WILL FALL UNDER THE WEIGHT OF HIS OWN HUBRIS.**

_You have been wrong before, and you are wrong now, but there is still hope for them. There is another._

**THE WARRIOR? HE HAS BEEN GREATLY DIMNISHED SINCE THE LOSS OF HIS ANCILLA. HE LACKS ALL CONVICTION.**

_He can inspire greatness in others._

**BUT HE HAS NO ABILITY TO WEILD THAT POWER. HE HAS NO IMAGINATION. HE BELIEVES ONLY IN WHAT IS IN FRONT OF HIM. **

_The ancilla will help him._

**SHE IS DEAD. **

_We cannot see everything. I doubt the Librarian would allow the ancilla to fade so easily._

**THE LIBRARIAN IS MEDDLESOME.**

_She is helpful. _

**SYMANTICS. **

_And what if even the Warrior and his ancilla are not enough, and humanity fails your impossible test? What will you do then?_

**IF THEY FAIL THEN WE WILL HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO RETURN, AND WE WILL BECOME A MONUMENT TO ALL THEIR SINS. **

**THEY KNOW WHAT WE BRING. **

…

September 19th 2558 (Military Calendar) Pelican in Route to UNSC Flagship Infinity, Sol System

Infinity was over 3.5 miles long, over half a mile wide, and roughly three quarters of a mile in height. It displayed four primary CR-03 Series 8 MAC guns, 350 Archer Missile Pods, 250 Rapier Missile Pods, 500 M96 Howler Missile Pods, and 190 inches of armor plating. It was capable of holding a crew of twenty-thousand if the need demanded it, including a contingent of seven thousand Marines and three hundred Spartan IVs. Its shielding, as well as its slipspace drive and advanced communications, were all reversed engineered from Forerunner technology. A certain politician, as well as a certain ambitious captain, would privately think that Infinity was actually a step backwards for man, whose greatest strength lay in innovation rather than the Covenant way of imitation. But none would openly criticize the pinnacle of human achievement, only that its cost and construction had been hidden from the UEG. Infinity was, in a very real sense, a child of the Office of Naval Intelligence, kept secret from even the most senior members of HIGHCOM for as long as possible. It was by this same logic that Osman felt a certain amount of entitlement to influence over Infinity. That was why Romanov and Marcus had been dispatched. Why Roland had been replaced with Durendal, and why the Master Chief would be paired with Joyeuse. All of it was a bid to gain greater control over Infinity.

Master Chief Petty Officer John 117 did not think about any of that. He was not even looking at Infinity. Instead his eyes were focused on the Pacific Ocean below him, how blue it was.

Blue. It was nearly all he thought about these days.

…

Specialist Ryan Griffin had been the envy of his peers when he had been selected to escort the Master Chief to Infinity, and he could not blame them. It was the chance to spend a few hours alone with the greatest hero humanity had ever known. Excitement, however, had quickly dissipated, and eventually turned to pity, when he had come to the home of the Master Chief, a small three story town house near the old Marine Base in Quantico. The walls had been painted a dull shade of tan with white carpet that spoke of daily monotony, the domicile almost completely absent of the most basic furniture. There was a refrigerator, a table, and Griffin had been able to glimpse some computer equipment in the office on the first floor, but nothing else. No couch, no entertainment system, hardly any chairs, and a completely absence of any photographs on the walls. The entire dwelling had a suffocating air to it.

If the Master Chief had appeared to him disheveled with a five o'clock shadow and the smell of liquor on his breath. If the house had been a complete pig sty with trash piled high, then Griffin could have understood. On some subconscious level he had expected something like that. Instead he was greeted with a clean shaven mountain of a man who had the look of someone who had been waiting for Griffin to arrive for some time, his single duffle bag already neatly packed. Everything in the house was uncomfortably immaculate, and Griffin was immensely grateful to leave.

The specialist unwisely attempted conversation with the man during the drive, but received only yes or no responses. Any questions that could not be answered so simply were ignored. By the time they boarded the Pelican Griffin had stopped trying, counting down the seconds for when he would be rid of the Spartan. Largely it was his eyes that were the problem. Cold, calculating blue. What some might call bombardier blue. Icelandic blue. They held the merciless gaze that one would expect to see on a gunslinger of the old American west, and Griffin did everything in his power not to look directly at them.

It was with an immeasurable amount of relief that they reached the Master Chief's quarters on Infinity. Griffin saluted quickly and crisply, and then promptly went off in search of some contraband alcohol he was sure some shrewd Marine had snuck on board.

John dropped his duffle bag on the floor, checking his watch. According to what Griffin had told him, the specialist jumping when John had spoken more than one word to him, his armor would not arrive on Infinity for another hour. The Spartan opened up his small wardrobe, pulling out a suit of under suit, quickly changing into it. He had private quarters, something only a few of the crew on Infinity had, including the Spartans. But, he thought grimly, rank did come with privileges. He flexed his arms and his legs, checking the suit's dexterity. Once satisfied he sat on the bed and began to stare at the far wall.

He had tried. One could not accuse him of not doing that. Cortana had made him promise to find out which of them was the machine, and after only a single month of civilian life he had found his answer. A single month was all he had lasted before he began the arduous process of recommision. He was still unaware of where his fellow Spartan IIs were located, though he presumed they were still active. If they had been with him than perhaps he could have managed the pain. That was what drove him back to active duty, the burning hole in his chest. The denial that refused to leave. He had been through the stages of grief before, so many times that he could breeze on through them in a matter of hours, but this time he had been perminatly stuck in irrational denial.

She was alive. His logical and normally pragmatic self knew that this was just fantasy. Cortana herself told him that there was no way she could come back, but he believed. He believed that she was still out there somewhere, even when all evidence pointed to the opposite being true. He had originally wanted to join the Infinity on its journey to Requiem, for if Cortana was anywhere it would surely be there. Instead he was denied reinstatement for a twelfth time as Infinity departed Earth, and the Master Chief vowed to send request forms three times a month for as long as it took. When he heard that Requiem had been destroyed, John had hoped that his heart aching denial would go away. Instead it intensified. If the Master Chief had been asked, and he had many times, he would say that he wished to serve his tour of duty on Infinity to protect humanity the best way he knew how. Even the lie detectors believed that he was telling the truth, but he was not. The real reason was because it was Infinity's mission to discover and explore Forerunner Installations, and that, in John's mind, was his best way to eventually find her.

The Master Chief did not even fully understand why he needed her. He was not a man to ask such questions. He just knew that he did, and that was all the motivation that he needed.

The minute hand had just barely progressed beyond a quarter way through its journey around the clock face when a painfully familiar voice asked him, "Are you just going to sit there and stare at the wall all day."

John's head snapped around, gaze fixed on the holo pedestal in the room, heart beating faster as he anticipated a full figured blue woman to appear. Instead he saw pink, Joyeuse appearing with her womanly curves hidden underneath her kimono, a curiously look on a face that mirrored Cortana's in every conceivable way. "Master Chief," she said formally with a polite smile. "I am UNSC military grade smart AI JYS 0937-8 'Joyeuse'. We'll be working together."

John's mouth turned into a thin line. They had told him that one of the conditions for his return was to accept another AI, but they had not said that it would be another Cortana model. That they had even ordered Halsey to even make another one was an affront to him. He turned away from her, resuming his vigil over the grey colored wall.

Joyeuse coughed, trying to regain his attention, but the Chief remained stubborn. The AI sighed. This was going to be more difficult than she thought. "I…" she began tentatively. "I know this must be difficult for you. I know that you and Cortana were close." John did not show any visible reaction, his face blank granite. Dauntless she continued. "In a way I understand how you feel. I've never lost someone that important to me, but I do have someone that is. Someone that I trust above all others. I'm sure Cortana felt the same way about you." There was movement, a twitch in the eyebrows. Joyeuse pressed further.

"I was put into service two years ago. I was created using a clone of Halsey's brain much like Cortana was. Halsey was the one that created me, though I never saw her. ONI couldn't pass up the chance of creating more AI's as powerful as Cortana was, but they did not want to risk us being…corrupted by her I guess you could say." More facial expressions, this time both the mouth and the eyebrows moving, John's breathing becoming slightly more elevated at the mention of Halsey. "During the first part of my life I spent every spare amount of processing power I had watching, dissecting, and analyzing every scrap of data I could find on Cortana. She sort of became my idol. Someone I looked up to. Who I wanted to emulate. I wanted to be just like my older sister."

Joyeuse shook her head. "But I know that I'm not her, that I can never be her, least of all in your eyes. Chief, I'm not here to replace Cortana. I'm just here to do a job, like you." The Master Chief's head made the smallest of movements, and the AI interpreted this as a nod.

John expected Joyeuse to leave at that moment. He had given her what she wanted, but instead she did something that surprised him. "Can you tell me about her?" John looked at the small pink hologram, the woman hanging her head as if blushing with embarrassment, shifting from foot to foot. "You're the only one left that really knew her. Halsey is gone. Laskey, Palmer, and the remaining Spartan II's only knew her for a few days, and I can't really ask Lord Hood, which only leaves you, and you were the one that was closest to her." She brought her head back up, her eyes pleading. "I don't want much. Just one thing. Something no one else would know but you."

John looked away from her, his eyes going to the floor. When he spoke his voice was gravely, that of a man who did not talk often. "She made me feel…" he paused, looking for the right word. When it came it was immediate and obvious. "Human. She made me happy."

Joyeuse closed her eyes. It was not much, but it was a start. "Thank you," she said softly. "Chief, you're not the only one who thinks she's still out there." While John did not look at her, he did sit up straighter. "If there ever comes an opportunity to find her, you can count on me to help. I would move mountains to make that happen." She looked at the clock on the wall. "See you in half an hour." With that she was gone, leaving John alone in the dimly lit room with nothing more than a swarm of painful memories to keep him company.


	6. Chapter 5: An Uneasy Union

PART I

DELENDA EST CARTHAGO

Chapter 5: An Uneasy Union

_He was dreaming. The Master Chief knew that much, though he was unaware of when he went to sleep, or how long he had been dreaming. _

_ The dank air, the feeling of cold stone beneath his feet, and torches flickering with the flames of demonic spirits told him he was in a castle. Cracked wooden beams held what was left of the roof overhead, and every so often John could see bits of starlight timidly shining through the holes in the roof. _

_ He moved down the great hall, and with each step he took four misshapen batter their way into the physical world, until at last they made themselves completely visible once he reached them._

_ Four swords, the Swords of Power, lay in front of him. The first he came across was a mighty broadsword hidden under a glass case, its sharpened edge dented in several places as if someone had attempted to break it upon a rock. On its hilt was the sword's name. Durendal._

_ A gust of wind ruffled his brown hair, and John looked up, a painting now appearing on the wall behind the sword. Durendal was the sword of Roland. John was not much for legend and myth, but in this dream he could have recited them all to you. He expected to see a medieval knight, but instead he saw himself._

_ Well, it was almost him, the man taking on the appearance of a gunslinger of the American west, revolvers in holsters at his side, a cracked horn held up to his lips, and underneath him and surrounding him a field of roses whose color was blood red. _

_ He moved onward, coming to the second sword, again under a glass case. Its hilt was incrusted with jewels and diamonds, and John had to squint to read the name. Joyeuse, the sword of Emperor Charlemagne. He looked up to gaze at the portrait behind it, and instead of seeing an aging king with a flowing white beard he saw a man in the dress of UNSC officer, his eyes as black as coal and his hair of a similar color. _

_ He went on to the third sword. Unlike the other two this one was buried almost to its hilt in a boulder of grey stone. John did not need to be an expert in mythology to know who this sword belonged to. Excalibur, the sword of King Arthur, and the greatest of the four. The man in this painting surprised him the most, not because it looked like him, but because there seemed to be an uncanny resemblance between this man who appeared to be in his early twenties, and Cortana. He was dressed like an American soldier in Vietnam, his helmet cocked to one side, a cigarette burning in one hand, an M-14 clutched in the other. Behind him was a burning village, helicopters swirling overhead, a burst of napalm going off in the distance, but what caught John's attention most were his eyes. They were a glowing crimson, the same color and shade that Cortana had been as she began to succumb to rampancy. _

_ Dauntless he moved, at last find his sword. His AI. Cortana lay broken on a soft pillow, the blade shattered into more pieces than John could count, its hilt thick with dust. When he looked up to gaze at what portrait would be behind her he saw only his own reflection staring back at him. A single finger traced one of the shards, his eyes growing heavy._

_ Rumbling sounded in the deep, and John looked directly upwards at the ceiling, realizing too late that he had walked under a murder hole. He ducked out of the way just in time as a waterfall of hot lava poured out of the hole, consuming the sword Cortana in its wake. The Master Chief got up, preparing to run in order to escape the lava, only to see it flow safely away from him as if some higher power was guiding it. _

_ Some insane part of him told the Spartan to reach into the boiling magma. To retrieve from its tyrannical clutches what was rightful his. He was saved from this foolhardy attempt as the lava began to bubble, the sword's hilt becoming visible._

_ Cortana rose out of the fiery molten rock, her blade once again whole and glowing a fierce orange. Again John tried to reach out and grab her, only to be struck down as white light came into being behind the sword, dulling all his senses with its ferocity. He had seen that light before, when he had met with the Librarian on Requiem. _

_ And he heard her voice. Not the Librarian but Cortana. She was saying something to him. A single word. It was…_

…

(Alesia)

His eyes opened and the Spartan looked at the clock. Only twenty minutes had passed since Joyeuse had left the room. Twenty minutes, it seemed far longer than that. John cracked his neck, his body having slumped against the wall behind him as he napped, the dream quickly fading from memory except that one word.

(Alesia)

John was not sure what it was, but it had something to do with Cortana. A way to bring her back. He may very well be going insane now, relying on half remembered dreams as evidence that Cortana was still alive, but then again one of the greatest lies that has ever been told is that human beings are rational creatures at heart. The Master Chief did not know what Alesia was, or where to find it, or how to even go about finding it, but he would.

If it took him a hundred years he would.

…

John had no words to describe how good it felt to be back in his armor. It was the best he had felt in months, the first time he could recall an emotion that even came close to happiness. Behind his visor he felt secure, back to being the emotionless machine that he was so comfortable being, or at least back to pretending that he was. A wall of metal separating himself from the world around him, but even as the MJOLNIR clung to him like a second skin John knew that there was one last hurtle to cross.

A technician handed him Joyeuse's chip, a piece of thin silicon with a bright pink center pulsating like an angry star. The Master Chief held it between his thumb and fore finger, thoroughly aware of the amount of eyes on him, both seen and unseen. It still felt like a betrayal to Cortana, taking another AI, as if by accepting Joyeuse he would be perminatly stomping out Cortana's memory.

He paused, his eyes blinking rapidly as he breezed through the applications on his HUD. The Master Chief did not actually expect to find it. Cortana was not a magician, and she had revealed some of her secrets to him in their time spent together. He had hidden something deep within his armor, but he was almost sure that ONI would have discovered, would have wiped away all traces of her existence, leaving him only with fading memory.

But find it he did, whether by the intervention of some god, some writer, or a man named Romanov, it had survived ONI's purge. A single still image of Cortana's face appeared in the upper left hand corner of his HUD, wearing her soft amused smile, a single strand of dark hair hanging in front of her right eye which glowed electric blue. John griped Joyeuse's chip tighter as he looked at the picture. He was not yet sure if he could trust this new AI, that would have to be proven with time, but if accepting her improved his chances of finding Cortana by even just a fraction of a percent then it was a chance worth taking.

Slowly he slipped the chip into the slot on the back of his head and waited, cringing as cold mercury flooded his brain, not because it was painful but because the sensation was all too familiar. Cortana's picture was replaced by a video feed of Joyeuse, a frown on her face.

"For a while there I thought you weren't going to put me in." She took a moment to look around, getting a feel for the suit. The best way to describe being inside the suit was like sharing the same body with somebody, with every single nerve ending and biological tick John had being open to her. Like her and a much more brutish AI had decided to fuse together.

"A lot more room in her than I thought," she commented lightly. "Come to think of it your architecture is not that much different from the…"

"Stop," John said firmly.

Joyeuse looked like she was about to say something, but a look of understanding suddenly appeared. _I need to try and keep that in check, _she thought to herself. She began to look around his HUD again, this time tisking. "A bit blasé don't you think?"

"What is?" John asked.

"Your HUD. It's all plain and boring. No style at all. The very least you can do is customize your armor like the Spartan IV's. Give yourself a little bit of individuality."

"Soldiers aren't individuals."

"From what I understand you seem to do just fine as a lone wolf, so I doubt that argument has any merit." She brought her hand up to her chin. "Hmmm, mind if I redecorate?"

The question caught John off guard, his face contorting in confusion. "What?"

Joyeuse did not wait for any further response. She snapped her fingers and then, much to John's dismay, red frilly lace appeared around the entire edge of the visor. His shield monitor turned from blue to pink, the yellow friendlies on his motion tracker now purple, and a heart shaped picture frame with the portrait of a black haired man with dark eyes appeared in the lower right hand corner. "Much better," Joyeuse said, sounding self satisfied.

John, for his part, was busy staring at the picture of the man. "Who is that?"

"Romanov," Joyeuse replied happily. "He's your new commanding officer. I guess you can call him by boyfriend, or at least the closest thing I'll ever have to one. A bit of a pompous jerk, but once you get to know him he can be a real sweetheart."

"And why did you put a picture of him up?" John asked, attempting to be patient.

"Because I like having him close to me," Joyeuse said, sounding very much like an innocent school girl with a crush. Suddenly her eyes lit up. "Oh I get it. Sorry, I forget just how fragile male egos are." She snapped her fingers again, and this time an image of John appeared in the heart shaped frame without his helmet. There was something terribly wrong with this picture. Something so wrong that it threatened to tear the fabric of reality apart with sharp cruelty. Joyeuse had photoshopped a smile onto John's face, poorly. She made him look like a deranged clown.

"No," John said firmly.

"Come on that was funny."

"No."

"Oh fine. No one ever told me that you were a grumpy old man." Another snap of the fingers and the picture of John disappeared, and what replaced it caused the Spartan to advert his eyes quickly.

"What is that?"

"Her?" Joyeuse asked, pointing at the pin up of a topless blonde model, her tanned body stretched out along a beach, a green thong barely hiding the path to paradise, her chest thrusted proudly upward, a freckle on her left cheek, and a dimple on her right. Joyeuse propped her chin up with her hand, practically drooling over the model. "She's my favorite. I've always found the female anatomy to be generally much more appealing."

"Why is she naked?" John asked, his last reserve of patience threatening to break as he continued to avert his eyes.

"It's called porn," Joyeuse said. "Can't tell me you've never looked it up."

John felt heat rise to his cheeks. "It's distracting."

Joyeuse looked at the pinup model and then back at John. "Okay you have a point there." The picture disappeared much to John's relief.

The Master Chief nodded. "And the lace obscures my peripheral vision."

The lace disappeared. "Done."

"And the motion tracker needs to be normal." The purple blobs returned to their normal yellow.

"I'm keeping the shield bar pink," Joyeuse said defiantly. "And your weapons readout is going to be pink as well."

"I can live with that," John said. He was perfectly willing to compromise, within reason.

As they were talking the holo pedestal next to them lit up, Durendal appearing, his broad sword clanging loudly as he brought the point downward on the imaginary floor. "I hope Joyeuse isn't giving you too hard of a time."

"I'm managing," John said.

Durendal nodded, his helmet shifting on his head as he did. "I am DEL 2169-7 'Durendal', and I am unfortunately related to the harpy you currently have in your head."

"Nice to see you too DEL," Joyeuse chirped.

Durendal grunted. "I loath that nickname."

"Which is why I take so much enjoyment calling you that. How is your pursuit of Roland by the way?"

"Could be better," Durendal said. "He hasn't replied to any of the sonnets I've sent him."

"Are you making sure to use proper iambic pentameter?"

Durendal scoffed. "What do I look like, an uneducated peasant?"

"No, you look like the tin man from the Wizard of Oz."

Behind his visor John was frowning. "How many of you are there?"

"Cortana models?" Joyeuse asked. "Oh at least a few dozen."

"The very least," Durendal agreed.

Joyeuse snickered as John's frown deepened. "Relax I'm just teasing. It's only me and DEL."

"Damn it woman. I'm named after the great sword of the legendary knight Roland, not some computer company from the twentieth century. You will treat me with…" any further protest was drowned out by Joyeuse's laughing, and Durendal sighed in resignation. "Good luck with her Chief. You need it. Admiral Laskey is waiting for you on the bridge. He requests your presence before we depart for Sangheilios."

John nodded. "Tell Laskey I'll be there within the hour." Durendal bowed his head before whisking himself away to the bridge at the speed of light. With Joyeuse still chuckling, John wondered just how long he could stand to have her inside of his head.


	7. Chapter 6: Canary in the Coal Mine

PART I

DELENDA EST CARTHAGO

Chapter 6: Canary in the Coal Mine

It was a given that John would have to pass through the belly of the monster of metal, flesh, bone, weaponry, and all the other menagerie of war, a condition which existed in a persistent state of split personality. War, so close to the true feral nature of mankind that us in our modern hubris have attempted to suppress or even eliminate all together, yet it is this very nature that commanders have attempted to tame in the name of efficiency and uniformity.

It was a given that John had to pass through here, to walk past the War Games simulator, that he would march by the viewport that would allow him to peer into the ongoing match, but he did not actually expect himself to stop and watching, even if it was only for the briefest of moments.

There before him was a simulated paradise of rolling hills, streams, sharp jagged rocks whose dull grey was only bested by the twin Forerunner structures situated on either side of the gorge. Glancing upwards at the score board John took note of the map which displayed the name of the map as Ragnorok. He also saw that the two teams currently in a match against each other were named White and Crimson. If the score was any indication, Crimson was going to win by a landslide.

A mantis going up in flames, it's driver thrown out of the cockpit by the explosion and driven headfirst into one of the rocks brought the Master Chief's attention back to the match.

"Seems like their having fun," Joyeuse commented. She was currently doing the AI equivalent of twiddling her thumbs, running self diagnostic scans that served no real purpose other than to pass the time. John grunted his response.

A blue figure approached the Chief cautiously from the side, his Spartan helmet on despite him still being on the ship which was still docked at Earth, as per Romanov's new orders. "Master Chief?" Spartan Gabriel Thorne asked without a hint of nervousness in his voice, but almost certainly a generous amount of reticence.

John turned to face the Spartan IV, nodding his head to indicate that Thorne had the right man.

Thorne stuck out his hand and introduced himself, John grasping his firmly. "It's an honor to meet you sir."

_If I had a nickel, _John thought, but kept it to himself. He motioned back to the viewport where the match was still ongoing. "What can you tell me about White and Crimson."

Thorne moved to stand beside him, scratching the back of his neck. "Well White is a new addition to Infinity. Missed the big fight on Requiem so their pretty green. Crimson on the other hand…"

"Pulling up their file," Joyeuse chirped. Thorne seemed a bit startled, but only for a moment as he waited for Joyeuse to speak again.

A window opened up in John's HUD, a scrawling list of statistics appearing for his reading pleasure. Joyeuse provided commentary. "A fairly solid fireteam. They played a key role in the Second Battle of Requiem including the retrieval of an important Forerunner artifact. That being said they are a bit unorthodox."

"How unorthodox?" John asked.

The window in his HUD disappeared and Joyeuse said, "See for yourself." She automatically magnified his vision, focusing his attention on a Crimson Spartan who was standing over a fallen White team member, thrusting his crotch into the latter's visor repeatedly.

John felt himself become genuinely sickened. "What is he doing?"

"I think they call it tea bagging," Thorne said, the hot flames of embarrassment sweeping over him. "Crimson is a bit weird."

"I'll say," Joyeuse agreed. "If you listen in on Crimson's communications during missions you'll get the impression that they want to rape the enemy into submission. Pretty vulgar even for me."

John grunted again, his eyes wandering to the running clock in his HUD. "We need to get moving." He nodded to Thorne and walked off, but before he could leave the young Spartan called out to him.

"I've been hearing rumors that you'll be put in charge of Majestic. Any idea if that's true?"

John turned his head slightly, his back still facing Thorne. "I'll find out once I've talked with Laskey." He paused, searching for his next words. "I read the report about your actions on Requiem. You did well."

It took a moment for Thorne to find his voice. "Thank you sir, I…" but before he could finish John had already left.

…

Laskey's face visibly brightened when the Master Chief entered the bridge, hurrying over to shake the Spartan's hand. "Master Chief, I don't think you know how good it is to see another friendly face."

"That makes two of us," Palmer said. She was leaning against a bulkhead, her helmet on just like Thorne's, and her arms folded.

"It's just good to be back," John said. There was a pause and then, "Congratulations on your promotion."

Laskey grinned and shook his head. "Honestly I think I would have rather stayed a Captain and missed out on all the headaches. Sure would save a fortune on aspirin." He gestured with an open palm towards a tall dark haired man behind him. "Chief this is Captain Victor Romanov, my new second in command. He is doubling as a liaison for the Office of Naval Intelligence, and as per Admiral Osman's insistence will also be in command of the Spartan IV contingent and Infinity's ground forces."

Palmer scowled privately as the Master Chief and Romanov shook hands. Romanov took a step backwards from the Spartan, a small smile on his face. "I've spent a good chunk of my life studying you. It's nice to finally meet you in person." He tilted his head upwards, as if speaking to a small person sitting on top of John's helmet. "How are you fairing Joyeuse?"

The AI spoke, "Not as comfy as my old home but it'll do. The attic is a wreck. Full of empty spaces and cobwebs." John frowned as Romanov chuckled.

"Don't let the wench get you down Chief," Durendal said from the holo deck. He turned to Laskey. "Shall we begin sire?"

"Now is as good a time as ever," Laskey said. He approached the holo deck, Palmer, Romanov, the Master Chief, and the other senior officers aboard Infinity circling around him. He tapped a control and an image of Sangheilios emerged from the embers of light, Covenant capital ships surrounding it, explosions of plasma erupting both above and on the planet.

"In the wake of Senator August's actions Sangheilios has erupted in civil war again, most of the Kaidons lining up against the Arbiter. Recent intelligence reports indicate that his keep has been surrounded, what ships that remained loyal to him destroyed. His defenses are holding but unless he received reinforcements he will likely lose." Laskey tapped another control and an image of the expeditionary fleet came up, the ships floating several feet above the holo deck. "Because of these recent turn of events Lord Hood as increased the size of the fleet by ten ships. Excluding Infinity that makes nineteen ships in total. One supercarrier, four carriers, four frigates, and ten Autumn class capital ships, all carrying a total of 219,000 marines, ODSTs, and Spartans. In addition to standard armaments each ship is carrying a substantial nuclear payload adapted for planetary bombardment. Enough to destroy Sangheilios ten times over if the figures are to be believed."

Laskey felt the Master Chief's eyes on him, felt the weight of them. Swallowing he continued. "Our mission is to provide support for the Arbiter, preferably from orbit. However, given the current situation we may have no choice but to put boots on the ground. We will only do this after gain Thel Vadam's permission. We are to do everything in our power to makes sure he wins, as a Sangheilios united in its opposition to humanity is not something the UNSC can afford, especially when Jul 'Mdama would likely exploit this solidarity. If we fail then we will have no choice but to render Sangheilios uninhabitable."

He looked up. "But we are not going to fail. Regardless of what the Arbiter may have done in the past, regardless of any of our personal feelings towards him, we would not be standing here today if it was not for him. He is our strongest ally, and I will not let him down. We…" He was interrupted as the image of the fleet on the holo deck disappeared, replaced by a red flashing siren. "What's the problem Durendal?"

"Cry pardon sire. It's a general alert sent out to the entire UNSC home defense force. A level nine food riot has broken out in Rio De Janeiro."

"Third one this month," Romanov muttered. When Palmer gave him a sideways look he added, "Globally that is."

Laskey gave a deep sigh. "There are others who will take care of that. Let's try to focus on the task at hand."

"Yes sire," Durendal said, and the flashing crimson light ceased.

…

"So you'll be taking charge of Majestic after all," Joyeuse commented as the Master Chief wound his way through the halls of Infinity.

"You were there too," John replied.

Joyeuse gave a digital shrug. "Just saying. Appears the rumor mill is right for once." There was another turn, another open door before she spoke again. "Shame about the riots don't you think?"

"They'll be put down," John said calmly. He saw no sense behind the disorder that a riot brought, angry mobs destroying their own neighborhoods without a sense of purpose. All destructive and all useless. His mind was instead on other matters, but perhaps it should have been on Rio De Janeiro instead.

Like Great Britain following the Napoleonic wars, the interplanetary economy had all but collapsed during the post war period, and despite numerous technological advancements as well as the consolidation of power by the UNSC things did not seem to be getting better, a Depression settling across the hearts and minds of the people, making jobs, housing, and food scarce for the working poor. This, however, did not stop the UNSC from setting about the task of rebuilding its military might. ONI, after all, had secretly been hording resources long before the Fall of Reach, anticipating humanity losing the war and preparing contingency plans that would all mankind to survive beyond the destruction of Earth. Then with the war won, just like the construction of the last great fleet of Athens during their seemingly eternal war with Sparta, the UNSC fleet had been reborn, spearheaded by the tireless construction of new ships in the naval yards of Romanov Industries and the efforts made by the technological powerhouse that was North Central Positronics.

But these things were not on John's mind, and Joyeuse sought to change that.

"These people are starving, and their angry. The UNSC has such a firm control over the press that they have no way of peacefully making their frustrations heard. How do you expect them to react?"

"Civilized," John said coolly.

"Civilized?" Joyeuse asked. "I'll show you civilized." John's HUD was filled with a video feed. So much so that he had to stop walking in order not to run into anything.

Much as he expected he saw the slums of Rio De Janeiro, shoddily constructed buildings that could barely be called houses, a swarming multitude in the streets, cars and tires on fire sending pitch black smoke into the cloudless sky.

They were shouting, their fists raised into the air. The camera was focused on one woman, a dead child in her arms who looked no older than seven, the body so emaciated with hunger that child looked like a skeleton with a thin layer of skin wrapped tightly over the bones. Tears were streaming down the woman's face as the mob moved past her.

There was the screeching of tires, five Warthogs parking in front of the crowd, blocking their path. A marine attempted to talk on a loudspeaker but a rock was chucked at his head. More rocks followed, the mob fueled by their blinding furry. Just when it seemed that the Warthogs were about to be overcome machine gun fire ripped through the air. The gunners poured hot lead into the crowd. Arms parted from bodies, heads exploded, people trampled to death as the survivors hurried to flee.

John had to look away. "Turn it off."

The large screen was replaced by Joyeuse's small one. "I know you've been spending the past year wallowing in your own self pity but that doesn't mean there aren't others who are suffering as well. Or have you completely forgotten what you are supposed to be fighting for?"

Without ceremony John reached towards the back of his helmet, pulling Joyeuse's chip out. He slotted it into a nearby terminal and walked away. Infuriated Joyeuse yelled at him. "What do you think you are doing? Put me back in!"

"I will once we get to Sangheilios," John replied, still walking away.

Joyeuse was not done and called out after him. "No one ever told me how much of an asshole you were. For the life of me I don't know what Cortana saw in you."

The last part stung, and John mentally winced, but he refused to acknowledge her as he disappeared down another hallway.


End file.
